A Change of Seasons

No one called it a plague at first.  We weren’t the kind of people who used words like that, words heavy with the suggestion of some greater force, but the idea was there, almost from the beginning, skittering around in the back of my head, peeking out into the light.

All spring we’d complained about the bugs, but it wasn’t until the early heat arrived and the city suffered blackouts for the first time in decades, leaving us no choice but to open our windows and even hang our heads and arms out over the sills, that we started to see how serious the problem was getting.  Speckling the ceiling weren’t just mosquitoes, but wasps, hornets, beetles, horseflies, and some I didn’t recognize with stingers as long as a toothpicks.  Rushing out from under the fridge, clustering along the baseboards were cockroaches, silverfish, centipedes, earwigs, and who knows what else.

to read the rest, go to Hobart: http://www.hobartpulp.com/web_features/a-change-of-seasons


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